Have you ever heard of Alex Jones. He’s an ultra right wing nutjob who believes all the crazy theories and flips out regularly, and, here’s the fun part, often rips off his shirt or just does segments shirtless for no reason. The man is quite a nice looking older cubbish type, and his crazy beliefs make him even more attractive.

Yeah, I know of him. He’s a wacko. But they’re all wackos. I wouldn’t say they’re attractive, though they could all use a good rape in my opinion. You know, for fun. Tie ‘em down, line ‘em up, and we can all have at ‘em.

Are you actually this edgy or were you just being facetious at the beginning and the very end of the answer to the question about trump.

None of that was intended to be facetious, no.

I hate humanity, as a collective thing. There are plenty of individuals that I’m plenty partial towards, but in terms of anything larger–societal structures and systems, culture, biological drives, identities–I find the whole thing pretty loathsome. I pretty much hate any human who breeds. I think children are horrendous, vile things. There are too many of us, we spend too much of our energy desperately trying to restrict the actions and choices of each other, we’re can’t get past fucking natural essentialism of the body and mind, and we are so fucking stupid–our brains are basically hardwired to believe countless natural and logical fallacies. Moving through the world and society as it currently is structured fills me with dysphoria–these spaces and cultures and norms were never designed for me, and I put up with them, stealth through them, but fuck, I hate every moment of it.

We’re fucked up. It’s even more fucked up, because with consciousness and free will and scientific advancement I firmly believe we’re capable of improving ourselves beyond all of these flaws into something genuinely (trans/post)human, but we lack any collective will to do so. 

All of these beliefs should be pretty self-evident from the shit I write, honestly. Hell, “City of Bears,” the longest thing I’ve written, is designed around the fundamental shift of the human species to a single masculine gender, predicated on assumptions of longevity, rebirth and a fluid genetic structure. The sexiest fucking thing to me is literally ruining someone’s humanity. In my mind, being the most fucked up shit I’ve written–objects, animals, strange monstrosities–all of that is still preferable to banal humanity. 

So I don’t know if this is “edgy” or not, but it’s definitely what I believe.

Was the locker room spirit sketch originally going to be part of something bigger? The way the story was going, it sounded like he was headed right for a corruption brought on by underestimating the spirit and watching his carefully laid plan fall apart.

Yeah, it was going to be a longer story, but that’s generally the case with everything I post as a sketch. I had a few ideas of where to go with it, but I wasn’t quite satisfied with any of the directions I could see the story going, and I also hated the voice of the character I was writing with, so it never went anywhere.

Hello. I was just remembering a fairly recent 2 part story from your main. I think it was a commission. It featured a son changing his father and himself with a computer program. At one point the dad was a young cub with a cigar penis. What was that story called? I can’t find it. Did you take it down?

Nah, that’s still up. It’s called “Identity Crises”, but it has three parts, and you can find them all here

Trump won the election…Thoughts?

I have a strong misanthropic and nihilistic streak, in case anyone had any doubts at this point, after reading most of the stuff I write–especially recently. I think that humans–as resulting from our status as a consciously advanced species born through the horrific collective trauma of evolution–are generally vile, horrid things focused on breeding, with small minds and little empathy for any collective self. I think that the mountain of historical evidence indicates that we, as a species, tend towards societies and civilizations which rest on foundations of cruelty and oppression. Even before this election, I thought that we were existing in not just the twilight of the American empire, but in the twilight of human civilization, if not the human species. All this to say, I have never held out much hope that humans, in general, would do the right thing when given the chance. Our survival, on an individual basis, is generally predicated on doing the wrong thing. Evolution has constructed the perfect Prisoner’s Dilemma we can’t escape, and we have yet to create a social or political system which can effectively manage our own capacity for selfishness.

I am relieved this election is over, which isn’t to say I’m happy with the results (I did vote for Clinton), but the relief! This last year and change has been one big ball of stress for me. It was clear, from a year ago this time, that Trump was going to win the Republican nomination, which has left me wondering, since then, just how terrible we Americans would prove to be.

I thought Clinton would win narrowly in 2016, and then expected her to lose in 2020 to a cleaner, more palatable white nationalist demagogue who would take Trump’s playbook, expand his appeal with white women and white gay men, and dominate that election. That said, here we are–it turns out people have lower standards than I thought.

But the ending I see in all of this is larger than an end of an era or an end of democracy–either nationally or internationally. This, along with so many other trends and movements globally–signals to be the twilight of our entire species, and I am so glad for this. We are all terrible beings, and we have proven our poor instincts to be both intrinsic and unconquerable. At this point, our collective death could be soon, since we have just put our nuclear codes in the fist of an unrepentant narcissist, but even excluding nuclear war, it will happen eventually. This planet is dying, and we lack the collective imagination to escape it’s wrath in any way which doesn’t set our civilization back millennia, either through ecological repairs or through space colonization. I don’t think it had to be this way. I think humanity is capable of overcoming it’s evolutionary tendency towards self-delusion and self-destruction, but we’re in a race against a clock here that’s only speeding up. I suppose there’s a chance we still could, but the window is becoming impossibly narrow, and we have gotten exactly none of our shits together to make it happen. 

All that said, however, isn’t this kind of exciting? I feel a bit of excitement, I admit it. I spent most of the morning at work giggling to myself over this, while I listened to riotous queer punk to get some of it out of my system (Bottoms’ “Goodbye” EP + Against Me). We’re teetering at a cataclysm, with a gun to our collective heads. There’s always been a certain beauty, for us, in collective death, an obsession with our own self-destruction. When I turned on my computer this morning, my PC had the ruins of Rome as my lock screen, and that seemed so charming, in the context of this. Look at us, who thought we’d learned anything. Here we are again, back at the precipice. It looks deeper this time, and were those jagged rocks at the bottom before? We dimly recall how much this hurt, the last time we did this, but if we weren’t meant to hurl ourselves off the edge, why do we place ourselves there over and over, like it’s our own, corrupted design?

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 2)

The apartment was quiet. Walter was sitting on the couch, taking a short break from pacing around the apartment. He’d met the guy–Jack–the guy who could allegedly lay down curses for a hefty fee–earlier in a cafe. He’d been, hesitant about Walter’s idea, but had agreed to do it, in the end. They’d come back here, and Jack had told him to go in and stay inside. Once Donny got home and entered the apartment, the curse would activate. Walter had tried to ask him details about what sort of spell he was planning, but Jack didn’t give him much. He said that his curses had a habit of taking on a life of their own, once they were let loose, so predicting what would happen was difficult. One thing Jack pressed, however, was that Walter do his best to not resist or fight the curse. The curse saw him as a tool. As long as he was helping further the curse, he would remain less affected, but if he resisted–the curse would likely reshape him into a tool it would find more useful. Whether he was telling the truth of feeding him bullshit, Walter couldn’t tell. He checked the clock again, and saw that Donny should be home in the next fifteen minutes or so, or at least, that’s when he usually arrived. Should he go through with this? It was more likely that nothing would happen at all, and he’d just been conned out of a couple thousand dollars. But if he didn’t even know what the spell was, then how would he even know if it was working? He thought back to Jack’s various warning about what he was doing, and his feet were starting to chill a bit–but Jack had said not to leave, or there was a chance the curse could trigger on him instead.

He really only had one option–wait until Donny got back. Chances are, nothing would happen anyway, and if something did happen? Well…this is what he wanted. He wanted Donny to suffer, sure, but more than anything, Walter wanted to be the one inflicting it himself. He wanted Donny to know that the reason his life was about to go down the tubes was because he’d decided to screw with the wrong daddy. He got up from the sofa and paced a bit more, pausing to look himself over in the mirror, wondering for the hundredth time why. He’d styled himself just how Donny had wanted him–full beard, a slicked back hairstyle he hated and which took too much maintenance, but which Donny assured him was perfectly on trend. Designer clothes which showed off his muscled body–which had gotten even larger, since Donny have become his workout partner. Should he have dyed his hair? Was he not giving him enough sex? It seemed like they fucked every other day. Why hadn’t it been enough? He needed some other reason beyond…beyond the fact that maybe Donny was just a money grubbing little shithead. At least if there was something wrong with him, he could have fixed it, but if this was just Donny being a horrible person–then it was Walter’s judgement that was off, and that hurt more.

He was still looking at himself when the door opened, and Donny came through the threshold, shaking his hand as he did, “Dang, that was weird..” he said to himself, “Hey daddy–sorry I’m a bit late. You ready to hit the gym?”

“Are you alright?” Walter asked, pointing at his hand.

“Just some static off the doorknob,” Donny said, “Oh, you aren’t ready for the gym yet?”

Walter almost always got home from work before Donny did, and he usually spent the extra time getting ready for their evening gym date, but the routine had completely slipped his mind. “Sorry, I got home kind of late too.”

“Well come on then, let’s get dressed and go.”

“He doesn’t care. He knows that you know, and he doesn’t even give a fuck.”

Walter shook his head. That had sounded…like a voice, or maybe it was more like a thought. It had come from his head, in any case, but it hadn’t felt like him. It was true, though. Donny had to have figured out by now, that Walter had intercepted some of his texts with his other guys, and he was just going to fucking pretend like it was nothing. Like it didn’t matter.

”Like you don’t even matter.”

He followed Donny into the bedroom, feeling even angrier than before.

”Confront him. Make him see you. Make yourself matter.”

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Donny?”

Donny was stripping off his work clothes, and shrugged. “I don’t think so. Is something on your mind?”

“You’re seriously going to do this? How fucking stupid do you think I am?”

Donny rolled his eyes, and Walter could almost see the response there, ready to roll off his tongue. That Walter should be thanking him. That Walter should have known this would happen, that no one like him could ever really satisfy a young stud like him. That he should appreciate the fact that he gets to taste Donny’s hot cock a few times a week at all. That if he can’t get on board with an open relationship, then Donny has plenty of other options open. He could see all of that in his younger lover’s eyes, in the sneer, in the stance…but then it faltered, and none of that came out. There was doubt in those eyes, maybe even a bit of fear. He tried to catch that fleeting confidence, but something had sucked it right out of him. “I…I mean…it was an accident.”

“An accident? You just accidentally fuck someone else? That happens a lot?”

Donny was stammering, unsure of how to recover. He’d been ready for this. He’d had a whole script, but something had pushed that right off the rails, and now he was scrambling for something say, for some excuse. He walked across the room towards his seething boyfriend. “Please, Walter, I’m sorry, I really–”

”He’s lying. Show him what happens when he lies to you.”

The force of the slap caught them both off guard. Never, in his life had Walter struck someone else, and never before had Donny been slapped. It sent him off balance and tumbling to the floor of the bedroom, stunned, cheek tingling, red with shame and embarrassment. Walter felt the power surging through him, out of his hands, and he realized, then, what Jack had been talking about–but it was far too late to turn back now.

Halloween at the Barnyard Part 3 – Chapters 1-3 | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

So it’s a week late, but here’s the first solid chunk of the third installment of Halloween at the Barnyard. This time around, we have some internal brothel politics, a cocky football player, and a few revenge plans that are all getting twisted up together. This is only the first half of the story, or so, and I hope to have the rest finished here in the next couple of months. Themes include: weight gain, musk, cow TF, cock shrink, milking, among other things.

If you haven’t supported me on Patreon yet, I’d definitely encourage you to do so? Five dollars a month gets you immediate access to two sizable archives–both a cache of unreleased and unfinished stories from my personal vaults, as well as access to every exclusive story I’ve posted to Patreon in the past like this one. It also means you’re helping support me and my writing, helping me set time aside to focus on longer narratives, like “Halloween at the Barnyard” and “City of Bears.” 

As always, to those supporting me, thanks again for your contributions! I hope you enjoy this month’s bonus.

Halloween at the Barnyard Part 3 – Chapters 1-3 | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 1)

“Look, all I’m saying is that…if this is the path that you go down, these curses, it’ll fuck you up too. It’s not going to see you as a person getting revenge–hell, it won’t see you as a person at all, really. These curses have a target, and everyone else is just a tool it can use to bring about that target’s downfall.” Jack paused, and stared his client in the eye. “Look, why not just cast this curse, or something like it, on him and one of his lovers? Because trust me…I ended up getting sucked into one of these myself a little while ago, it isn’t…fun. And I can reverse the effects–mostly, but I still…nevermind, that’s not important. Here’s the point: you’re never going to be able to back out of this, if you make this choice.”

The older man, Walter, sitting across from him in the cafe nodded along, but Jack could see in his eyes that he wasn’t changing his mind, but Jack was still hesitant to give the man the curse he’d requested, in the manner he’d requested it. Fuck, he still couldn’t break himself of that fucking pig Clyde. No matter how hard he tried, he’d go back there every few weeks, rent that pig for a weekend, and…and go back to being that brute all over again. Jack shook his head, his cock rock hard in his pants, the need to see that fucker growing again at the thought of him, but he had other shit he needed to focus on.

Walter wanted a curse cast on his boyfriend, Donny. They’d been in a relationship for close to five years, and Walter had just found out that Donny had been seeing a variety of other men behind his back, despite his promise to be monogamous. This had especially hurt Walter, because, well, he’d always secretly suspected that Donny was with him more for his financial security than his looks. Walter was by no means bad looking–no, he’d met Donny at the local gym, shortly after Donny had moved to the city. Most men over fifty would kill to have a physique like Walter, and both he and Donny were muscular and built. Walter had done his best to keep himself looking attractive for his younger boyfriend, trying to keep up with a more modern styling–goodness knows, there had been plenty of time when he could have picked up an admiring young boy from the gym for an afternoon. But none of this made Walter’s case unusual. If anything, stories like this gave him the majority of his clients. No, what set Walter apart was that, while most people wanted to curse them and get them the fuck out of their lives, Walter was asking Jack to channel the curse through him.

This was no minor matter. If Jack did what Walter was asking, he would be cursed as well–or as he’d been trying to explain, the curse would be using him as it’s primary tool to do as much damage to Donny as it possibly could…and given how hurt Walter was, it meant that the curse would likely end up becoming quite powerful if it did use him. Whatever the result ended up being, they’d both be stuck–and he was trying to convince Walter that being stuck with one of his curses wasn’t something most people wanted to volunteer for.

Walter sighed, “I understand” –he didn’t, Jack thought– “but I…look, it’s hard to explain, but I want it to fucking ruin him. I want to be there when it happens. I want him to know that it was me.”

“This is going to sound mean, but you’re way too emotionally involved in this–”

“‘Emotionally involved’? He’s my fucking boyfriend? What did you fucking expect?”

“These curses feed off that, and if you put yourself in a room with him, with a curse guiding your hand, you will end up in a situation you’ll regret.”

“What if I don’t care?”

Jack sighed, “Maybe you should care? Why in the world would you want to ruin your life for the sake of his shitty behavior?”

Walter didn’t reply, but the answer was there, in his eyes. He still loved the fuck. More than that even–he still wanted to be with him, but more than that, he wanted to bring him to heel. Feeling the emotions swirling in Walter, Jack could feel the curse beginning to form inside him, taking shape, responding to the emotions between them. It was too late now, in a sense. Whatever curse Jack ended up making, it was going to be tainted with this emotion. Walter would probably end up pulled into the vortex no matter what he did–still, that was no reason to put him at the eye of the storm…or maybe, that was the exact reason to put him there. If this is what he fucking wanted, why not just give it to him? He wasn’t sure he would have protested this much in the past, before he’d been sucked into one of these himself. He knew what it was like, how much power you felt like you had, even though everything was out of control. Fuck, he needed to fuck that pig–he had a feeling he should cancel his appointments this weekend, and reserve his usual 72 hour rental. It wasn’t the pig he wanted–it was that sensation of…as that brute, Jack was in complete control, but no longer able to choose for himself. Power without responsibility. That’s what Walter was searching for, he realized. That’s what he needed, and if Jack could give that to him…who was he to deny him, when he himself couldn’t seem to kick the habit himself?

“Fine,” Jack said, “I get it. But I warned you. It’s going to be a rush, but there will be a moment when that well runs dry, and you’re going to realize what’s happened to you both. That this curse is what you both will have to live with for the rest of your life.”